Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series)
Page 193
But I am as a child for love, and have
No strength at heart; yea, I am afraid to die,
For the harsh dust will lie upon my face
Too thick to see you past. Look how I love you;
I did so love you always, that your face
Seen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tears
For pure delight in you. Why do you thus?
You answer not, but your lips curl in twain
And your face moves; there, I shall make you weep
And be a coward too; it were much best
I should be slain.
QUEEN.
Yea, best such folk were slain;
Why should they live to cozen fools with lies?
You would swear now you have used me faithfully;
Shall I not make you swear? I am ware of you:
You will not do it; nay, for the fear of God
You will not swear. Come, I am merciful;
God made a foolish woman, making me,
And I have loved your mistress with whole heart;
Say you do love her, you shall marry her
And she give thanks: yet I could wish your love
Had not so lightly chosen forth a face;
For your fair sake, because I hate you not.
CHASTELARD.
What is to say? why, you do surely know
That since my days were counted for a man’s
I have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense,
Whatever thing was bitter to my love,
I have loved you; how when I rode in war
Your face went floated in among men’s helms,
Your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords;
Yea, and I never have loved women well,
Seeing always in my sight I had your lips
Curled over, red and sweet; and the soft space
Of carven brows, and splendor of great throat
Swayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one have
To wind his arms about a lesser love?
I have seen you; why, this were joy enough
For God’s eyes up in heaven, only to see
And to come never nearer than I am.
Why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood,
Bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writ
All my heart over: if I would lie to you
I doubt I could not lie. Ah, you see now,
You know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love,
Let me kiss there.
QUEEN.
I love you best of them.
Clasp me quite round till your lips cleave on mine,
False mine, that did you wrong. Forgive them dearly
As you are sweet to them; for by love’s love
I am not that evil woman in my heart
That laughs at a rent faith. O Chastelard,
Since this was broken to me of your new love
I have not seen the face of a sweet hour.
Nay, if there be no pardon in a man,
What shall a woman have for loving him?
Pardon me, sweet.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, so I pardon you,
And this side now; the first way. Would God please
To slay me so! who knows how he might please?
Now I am thinking, if you know it not,
How I might kill you, kiss your breath clean out,
And take your soul to bring mine through to God,
That our two souls might close and be one twain
Or a twain one, and God himself want skill
To set us either severally apart.
O, you must overlive me many years.
And many years my soul be in waste hell;
But when some time God can no more refrain
To lay death like a kiss across your lips,
And great lords bear you clothed with funeral things,
And your crown girded over deadly brows,
Then after you shall touch me with your eyes,
Remembering love was fellow with my flesh
Here in sweet earth, and make me well of love
And heal my many years with piteousness.
QUEEN.
You talk too sadly and too feignedly.
CHASTELARD.
Too sad, but not too feigned; I am sad
That I shall die here without feigning thus;
And without feigning I were fain to live.
QUEEN.
Alas, you will be taken presently
And then you are but dead. Pray you get hence.
CHASTELARD.
I will not.
QUEEN.
Nay, for God’s love be away;
You will be slain and I get shame. God’s mercy!
You were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet.
Oh, I do love you more than all men! yea,
Take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast,
So you leave hold a little; there, for pity,
Abide now, and to-morrow come to me.
Nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat —
Dear God! what shall I give you to be gone?
CHASTELARD.
I will not go. Look, here’s full night grown up;
Why should I seek to sleep away from here?
The place is soft and the lights burn for sleep;
Be not you moved; I shall lie well enough.
QUEEN.
You are utterly undone. Sweet, by my life,
You shall be saved with taking ship at once.
For if you stay this foolish love’s hour out
There is not ten days’ likely life in you.
This is no choice.
CHASTELARD.
Nay, for I will not go.
QUEEN.
O me! this is that Bayard’s blood of yours
That makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay.
I do not understand. Mind, you must die.
Alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me;
I shall be deadly to you.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, I saw that;
But I saw not that when my death’s day came
You could be quite so sweet to me.
QUEEN.
My love!
If I could kiss my heart’s root out on you
You would taste love hid at the core of me.
CHASTELARD.
Kiss me twice more. This beautiful bowed head
That has such hair with kissing ripples in
And shivering soft eyelashes and brows
With fluttered blood! but laugh a little, sweetly,
That I may see your sad mouth’s laughing look
I have used sweet hours in seeing. O, will you weep?
I pray you do not weep.
QUEEN.
Nay, dear, I have
No tears in me; I never shall weep much,
I think, in all my life; I have wept for wrath
Sometimes and for mere pain, but for love’s pity
I cannot weep at all. I would to God
You loved me less; I give you all I can
For all this love of yours, and yet I am sure
I shall live out the sorrow of your death
And be glad afterwards. You know I am sorry.
I should weep now; forgive me for your part,
God made me hard, I think. Alas, you see
I had fain been other than I am.
CHASTELARD.
Yea, love.
Comfort your heart. What way am I do die?
QUEEN.
Ah, will you go yet, sweet?
CHASTELARD.
No, by God’s body.
You will not see? how shall I make you see?
Look, it may be love was a sort of curse
Made for my plague and mixed up with my days
Somewise in their beginning; or indeed
A bitter birth begotten of sad stars
At mine own body’s
birth, that heaven might make
My life taste sharp where other men drank sweet;
But whether in heavy body or broken soul,
I know it must go on to be my death.
There was the matter of my fate in me
When I was fashioned first, and given such life
As goes with a sad end; no fault but God’s.
Yea, and for all this I am not penitent:
You see I am perfect in these sins of mine,
I have my sins writ in a book to read;
Now I shall die and be well done with this.
But I am sure you cannot see such things,
God knows I blame you not.
QUEEN.
What shall be said?
You know most well that I am sorrowful.
But you should chide me. Sweet, you have seen fair wars,
Have seen men slain and ridden red in them;
Why will you die a chamberer’s death like this?
What, shall no praise be written of my knight,
For my fame’s sake?
CHASTELARD.
Nay, no great praise, I think;
I will no more; what should I do with death,
Though I died goodly out of sight of you?
I have gone once: here am I set now, sweet,
Till the end come. That is your husband, hark,
He knocks at the outer door. Kiss me just once.
You know now all you have to say. Nay, love,
Let him come quickly.
[Enter DARNLEY, and afterwards the MARIES.]
DARNLEY.
Yea, what thing is here?
Ay, this was what the doors shut fast upon —
Ay, trust you to be fast at prayer, my sweet?
By God I have a mind —
CHASTELARD.
What mind then, sir?
A liar’s lewd mind, to coin sins for jest,
Because you take me in such wise as this?
Look you, I have to die soon, and I swear,
That am no liar but a free knight and lord,
I shall die clear of any sin to you,
Save that I came for no good will of mine;
I am no carle, I play fair games with faith,
And by mine honor for my sake I swear
I say but truth; for no man’s sake save mine,
Lest I die shamed. Madam, I pray you say
I am no liar; you know me what I am,
A sinful man and shortly to be slain,
That in a simple insolence of love
Have stained with a fool’s eyes your holy hours
And with a fool’s words put your pity out;
Nathless you know if I be liar or no,
Wherefore for God’s sake give me grace to swear
(Yea, for mine too) how past all praise you are
And stainless of all shame; and how all men
Lie, saying you are not most good and innocent,
Yea, the one thing good as God.
DARNLEY.
O sir, we know
You can swear well, being taken; you fair French
Dare swallow God’s name for a lewd love-sake
As it were water. Nay, we know, we know;
Save your sweet breath now lest you lack it soon:
We are simple, we; we have not heard of you.
Madam, by God you are well shamed in him:
Ay, trust you to be fingering in one’s face,
Play with one’s neck-chain? ah, your maiden’s man,
A relic of your people’s!
CHASTELARD.
Hold your peace,
Or I will set an edge on your own lie
Shall scar yourself. Madam, have out your guard;
’T is time I were got hence.
QUEEN.
Sweet Hamilton,
Hold you my hand and help me to sit down.
O Henry, I am beaten from my wits —
Let me have time and live; call out my people —
Bring forth some armed guard to lay hold on him:
But see no man be slain.
Sirs, hide your swords;
I will not have men slain.
DARNLEY.
What, is this true?
Call the queen’s people — help the queen there, you —
Ho, sirs, come in.
[Enter some with the Guard.]
QUEEN.
Lay hold upon that man;
Bear him away, but see he have no hurt.
CHASTELARD.
Into your hands I render up myself
With a free heart; deal with me how you list,
But courteously, I pray you. Take my sword.
Farewell, great queen; the sweetness in your look
Makes life look bitter on me. Farewell, sirs.
[He is taken out.]
DARNLEY.
Yea, pluck him forth, and have him hanged by dawn;
He shall find bed enow to sleep. God’s love!
That such a knave should be a knight like this!
QUEEN.
Sir, peace awhile; this shall be as I please;
Take patience to you. Lords, I pray you see
All be done goodly; look they wrong him not.
Carmichael, you shall sleep with me to-night;
I am sorely shaken, even to the heart. Fair lords,
I thank you for your care. Sweet, stay by me.
ACT IV.
MURRAY.
SCENE I.-The Queen’s Lodging at St. Andrew’s.
The QUEEN and the four MARIES.
QUEEN.
Why will you break my heart with praying to me?
You Seyton, you Carmichael, you have wits,
You are not all run to tears; you do not think
It is my wrath or will that whets this axe
Against his neck?
MARY SEYTON.
Nay, these three weeks agone
I said the queen’s wrath was not sharp enough
To shear a neck.
QUEEN.
Sweet, and you did me right,
And look you, what my mercy bears to fruit,
Danger and deadly speech and a fresh fault
Before the first was cool in people’s lips;
A goodly mercy: and I wash hands of it. —
Speak you, there; have you ever found me sharp?
You weep and whisper with sloped necks and heads
Like two sick birds; do you think shame of me?
Nay, I thank God none can think shame of me;
But am I bitter, think you, to men’s faults?
I think I am too merciful, too meek:
Why if I could I would yet save this man;
’T is just boy’s madness; a soft stripe or two
Would do to scourge the fault in his French blood.
I would fain let him go. You, Hamilton,
You have a heart thewed harder than my heart;
When mine would threat it sighs, and wrath in it
Has a bird’s flight and station, starves before
It can well feed or fly; my pulse of wrath
Sounds tender as the running down of tears.
You are the hardest woman I have known,
Your blood has frost and cruel gall in it,
You hold men off with bitter lips and eyes —
Such maidens should serve England; now, perfay,
I doubt you would have got him slain at once.
Come, would you not? come, would you let him live?
MARY HAMILTON.
Yes-I think yes; I cannot tell; maybe
I would have seen him punished.
QUEEN.
Look you now,
There’s maiden mercy; I would have him live —
For all my wifehood maybe I weep too;
Here’s a mere maiden falls to slaying at once,
Small shrift for her; God keep us from such hearts!
I am a queen too that would have him live,
But one that has no wrong and is no queen,
She would-What are you saying there, you twain?
MARY CARMICHAEL.
I said a queen’s face and so fair an one’s
Would lose no grace for giving grace away;
That gift comes back upon the mouth it left
And makes it sweeter, and set fresh red on it.
QUEEN.
This comes of sonnets when the dance draws breath;
These talking times will make a dearth of grace.
But you-what ails you that your lips are shut?
Weep, if you will; here are four friends of yours
To weep as fast for pity of your tears.
Do you desire him dead? nay, but men say
He was your friend, he fought them on your side,
He made you songs-God knows what songs he made!
Speak you for him a little: will you not?
MARY BEATON.
Madam, I have no words.
QUEEN.
No words? no pity —
Have you no mercies for such men? God help!
It seems I am the meekest heart on earth —
Yea, the one tender woman left alive,
And knew it not. I will not let him live,
For all my pity of him.
MARY BEATON.
Nay, but, madam,
For God’s love look a little to this thing.
If you do slay him you are but shamed to death;
All men will cry upon you, women weep,
Turning your sweet name bitter with their tears;
Red shame grow up out of your memory
And burn his face that would speak well of you:
You shall have no good word nor pity, none,
Till some such end be fallen upon you: nay,
I am but cold, I knew I had no words,
I will keep silence.
QUEEN.
Yea now, as I live,
I wist not of it: troth, he shall not die.
See you, I am pitiful, compassionate,
I would not have men slain for my love’s sake,
But if he live to do me three times wrong,
Why then my shame would grow up green and red
Like any flower. I am not whole at heart;
In faith, I wot not what such things should be;
I doubt it is but dangerous; he must die.
MARY BEATON.